Building Barriers
by Adonis blue
Summary: Going away to school changes a person. As she returns to her Muggle home after completing her fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Hermione begins to realize that the person her parents expect her to be no longer exists.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I, of course, do not own any of the characters, plots, etc. of the _Harry Potter_ series. They belong to the incredibly brilliant J. K. Rowling. This is simply my attempt to exercise my imagination.

**Building Barriers**

Prologue

Some put them up at once, in response to a singular, great offense committed by another. But these are the weakest, formed quickly and often broken easily.

Some hold them from childhood, and as they grow and mature, so too does the wall separating them from the rest of the world. These take years to overcome.

But the final kind—the strongest—are built slowly, brick by brick. The bricks go up unnoticed, forming an almost unbreakable wall, until but one stone remains.--one last hole, allowing little to pass through but oxygen. Until one day, that brick is shoved in, too, helped along by both sides, and no air mingles. There is no way to go back, to take it down. The mortar has long hardened, and the wall crumbles slowly, weakening only after a lifetime—and sometimes, not at all.

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**A/N**: I should mention that the images for this prologue were inspired by Edgar Allan Poe's "The Cask of Amontillado." While waiting for an update, you could read it. It's amazing.


	2. Gathering Supplies

Summary: Going away to school changes a person, whether she realizes it or not. Hermione Granger already had a few enormous strikes against her. As she returns to her Muggle home after completing her fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Hermione begins to realize that the person her parents expect her to be no longer exists.

**A/N:** Some of the events are taken directly from the 4th book. Others are taken from implications therein. There are also a few direct quotes. Keep your eyes open.

**Building Barriers:** The bricks may be of misunderstanding, but the mortar is of love.

**Chapter 1: Gathering Supplies**

Hermione stepped off of the Hogwarts Express, steam from the engine flooding her nostrils. The hot air singed her nasal passages and tingled the back of her windpipe, stopping her breath. Just as Ron jumped down onto the platform, Hermione choked, a raspy cough parting her lips.

"You okay?" asked Ron.

"Fine," she gulped, attempting to rewet her parched throat. "I wonder what Harry's doing. Wasn't he right behind us?"

"Yeah," answered Ron, helping her lift her trunk onto the sparkling black platform.

"I suppose he's not overly anxious to return home…er…to his Aunt and Uncle's?" Hermione offered as students grumbled while attempting to push their way around Ron, who--while toting Pig's cage in one hand and his trunk in the other--successfully clogged traffic. He was still standing directly in front of the step leading off of the train.

"Yeah," replied Ron absentmindedly as Hermione moved to pull him out of the way. Her hand gripping his forearm remained there even after she managed to move Ron, and as she realized the situation's awkwardness, she released her hold, mumbled a quick "sorry," and returned to where her things stood, slightly away from the train.

After a few minutes of watching Ron shuffle his feet and grumbling about having to wait, Hermione saw Harry emerge from the tunnels of the _Hogwarts Express_.

"What took you so long?" inquired Ron, "and where are Fred and George?" Ron glanced backward over his shoulder.

"They're coming. We took our time trodding extra hard on Malfoy and Git 1 and Git 2." Hermione noticed something funny in Harry's tone. Perhaps he answered a little too quickly. She shoved the feeling aside. After all, he certainly had the right to act a little queer.

"Ready?" she asked her friends just as Fred jumped down from the train. And taking a deep breath, she stepped out of the barrier.

After emerging, Hermione looked toward her parents, who stood beaming in the middle of King's Cross Station. She waved at them before following Harry over to where his Aunt and Uncle stood--both bearing sour expressions. _They would never have survived what Harry's been through_, thought Hermione hotly, surprising herself. _Yet they treat him like…_

Hermione's thoughts were cut off by Mrs. Weasley, who stood nearby, engulfing Harry in a hug only a mother could give and promising to send for him. The young witch waited until Ron, too, had clapped Harry on the back and said goodbye before she moved forward.

"‛Bye, Harry!'" squeaked Hermione, and acting on a predetermined impulse, she kissed him on the cheek.

Harry blinked at her in surprise. She simply smiled in return and waved farewell to Ron. The invitation is for you too, of course dear," added Mrs. Weasley with a smile.

"Thank you very much, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione was incredibly glad to be on good terms with Ron's mother after that fiasco caused by Rita Skeeter's article. Once again reminded of the sneaking bug, Hermione gripped the unbreakable jar tightly and withdrew it from her schoolbag.

Then, taking a deep breath, Hermione braced herself, and wheeled her cart toward the spot where her parents waited, glowing with pride at their only child.

Without preamble, her mother flung both arms around Hermione. Hermione's face pressed against the rainbow pattern of Mrs. Granger's work shirt, which felt familiar and foreign at the same time.

"Your mother couldn't wait to see you. She's been driving me mad for the past few weeks, counting down the days until we'd come to pick you up." Hermione smiled crookedly, not knowing how to respond. She expected this reaction—it was the same every year. Of course, what with her studies and the trouble in the wizarding world, Hermione didn't have much time to think about it. But nevertheless, she longed to see her parents, too…_didn't she?_

After an eternity, Mrs. Granger finally released her daughter, and Hermione moved over to give her dad the same courtesy. His hugs were usually swift, but this time he held onto her a little longer than normal. When she was finally freed, Hermione looked across the station. And giving Harry and Ron a final wave, she turned and followed her parents out of the station.

Emerging into the sunlight, Hermione shook her jar as a reminder to herself (and also to aggravate the anxious beetle Rita) and spoke to her parents. "I just need to finish this one last thing before we leave. It won't take me a minute."

"What is it?" Her mother's question prevented Hermione from taking even one step.

"Oh nothing," Hermione waved a hand and attempted to shift the jar out of the sight of her Muggle parents. It wasn't that she didn't want to tell them, it's just that the less questions that they asked, the easier her task would be.

Her father spoke next. "Alright," he said, growing slightly impatient, "but don't take too long. I want to beat the traffic out of here."

"I'll be quick," she nodded.

Checking to see that her father gripped her trunk and her mother kept her firm hold on Crookshanks' cage, Hermione rounded the corner to stand behind a sign on a deserted stretch of pavement. Hermione tapped on the glass jar. "You make sure to keep your word," Hermione whispered while sending darting glances to either side of her, "Because I certainly will." The beetle Rita shuffled her wings, signaling agitation as a result of her forced compliance. Setting her mouth in a firm line reminiscent of Professor McGonagall's, Hermione unscrewed the lid.

Immediately, the beetle unfolded her wings and lifted off from the tuft of grass on which she had been resting. Restricted from flying for longer than usual, Rita bounced off of the sides of the jar before managing to make her escape into the clear London sky. The witch watched Rita fly away into the Muggle street with a sigh of satisfaction. The "journalist" would have to keep quiet, or else Hermione would reveal her secret. And as ruthless Rita's pen was, Hermione strongly doubted that Rita's acid quill had prepared her for a term in Azkaban.

As she walked back toward her parents, who stood next to their now-packed station wagon, Hermione placed the cap on her unbreakable jar and smiled, also capping her fourth year at Hogwarts.

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(U.S. ed. p.34)

A/N: Yes, I know it's shorter than I wanted, and not much happens, but I needed to get this out of the way. And it was the most logical place to break the story. Oh, and I know "predetermined impulse" is an oxymoron, but it just seemed to fit with Hermione's personality. Only she would act on a predetermined impulse. She plans everything—even her impulses. Reviews are appreciated, & constructive criticism would be most helpful.


	3. The Primary Layers

Summary: Walking away doesn't solve anything. Unfortunately, talking doesn't help either.

**Building Barriers:** The bricks may be of misunderstanding, but the mortar is of love.

**Chapter 2: The Primary Layers**

On the way home, her parents besieged her with the usual questions about her school year and her studies. Hermione told them about mastering summoning charms faster than anyone else in the class, as well as her quick grasp of the more challenging switching spells (specifically, changing a hedgehog into a pincushion). After she narrated her academic year, she did her best to explain what the more complicated magic was and meant--in ways that two dentists would understand.

The Triwizard Tournament was also something Hermione knew would come up. The subject had appeared in her letters home all year--that is until the end. So, before her parents could ask questions, Hermione skirted the nicer moments of the topic and left the rest alone. She thought that the stiffness of her voice must have been apparent, but when neither parent commented, Hermione decided that she was safe from them. But just maybe, she was not yet safe from herself.

"Sorry for talking your ears off," she finished quietly before falling to gazing out of the car window at the passing landscape. _Ragged_. That was the best word she could think of at the moment that described her breathing. Her mind wasn't working as well as she would have liked. Images of the Great Hall draped in black reflected in the glass of the window. Dumbledore was speaking…

Hermione resolutely shook her head to clear the image. She would think of that later. When she had some time alone. She could not fall apart. Harry had to deal with much more than she did. The roadside landscape of passing trees returned.

They finally reached the brick house, and as she watched her father haul her trunk up the front stoop, she thought how simple it would be if she could just give it a boost with her wand. Almost out of habit, her hand moved to retrieve it from her pocket, but she froze in horror as she realized that she had almost violated Wizarding law.

Mentally shaking herself, Hermione stepped after her father into the house. "What would you like to do first?" asked her mother.

"Unpack?" Hermione answered.

Her mother emitted a giggle uncannily similar to one of Hermione's. "I should have known. I meant after that."

"Oh, I don't know… I was thinking of reading…unless you have something in mind?"

"I was thinking of going for a walk. It's so nice outside."

"Yes, it is," Hermione glanced out the window at the uncommonly sunny day.

"Your father and I have a lot of appointments tomorrow, so I thought that we could spend some time together today, before we have to go back to work. We've been getting a large number of children who are finishing the school term." Both her parents were dentists; they shared an office where they practiced together.

Hermione sighed. She didn't really feel like going for a walk; her feet hurt, and her eyes drooped from cramming for final exams. Her mind was mentally taxed from both studying and testing and trying to comprehend all that had happened with Harry and Cedric at the end of the tournament. Still, she appreciated that she would not see too much of her parents for the remainder of the summer. "That sounds great, Mum. I'll be ready as soon as I finish taking this stuff upstairs."

"Why don't we go right now?"

"Now? I haven't unpacked yet."

"That's okay. You can do it later." Hermione could hardly believe her ears.

"Later?" she squeaked. In truth, she hadn't really planned on unpacking, but the thought of her trunk sitting in the front hall did not sit well with Hermione. "I thought you said we could go after I unpacked."

"Some things never change." For some reason, this comment left the usually collected Hermione biting her tongue.

"You worked hard all year. Take a short break. Besides, walking is good for you."

"True," she consented, allowing the unfamiliar heated and uncomfortable moment to pass.

Mother and daughter walked through the Muggle streets, Hermione sharing a bit more with her mother than she did with her father. She refused to release the details, but she revealed a tad more about the Yule Ball and Victor's promise to write.

"So, this Victor," her mother began. Hermione felt an extra amount of heat in her cheeks unrelated to the brisk strides she made. "What's he like."

"I've told you…" She sighed, resignedly. Hermione would need to carefully choose her words; she did not care to let slip too much to her mother. Mother-daughter talks had always made her temperature rise and her hands fidget uncontrollably. "He's nice, but I'm not sure…"

"Not sure about what?" Mrs. Granger huffed between breaths.

"Oh, I don't know." Hermione actively stared at a tall house further on. "Those are nice shutters," she commented. Still, her mother was not to be deterred.

"You know, Hermione, you'll never know what he's like if you don't take the risk of getting to know him."

"Oh, I know him." Anxious to resurface before her mother pulled the conversation deeper into the dark waters Hermione hesitated to revisit, she searched once again for a distraction."

Talks of Victor led to the world cup. But this was dangerous too. She described some of the game, mentioned the mascots, expressed her disgust with the behavior of the boys as a result to the Veela, carefully stepped over the incident in the woods and the appearance of the dark mark, and…_Winky_.

For a moment, her feet halted. _A perfect distraction_. Although the thought of using S.P.E.W. as a distraction left her with an uneasy stomach, she pushed the feeling aside and looked upon the opportunity to promote a worthy cause and drum up support—even if her mother might not understand fully, surely Hermione could help her understand.

Half an hour later, the two women of the Granger family approached the house, talking animatedly--or rather, Hermione talked animatedly to her mother, who although showing more interest than any of the S.P.E.W. recruits, still appeared to be thinking of something else.

"Well, that sounds like a good idea, dear. Of course, any form of slavery, as you said, is horrible, but…" When Mrs. Granger hesitated, Hermione pounced.

"But…' what?"

"Oh nothing, it's just… This is a noble thing to do, Hermione; it's just not going to be as easy as you think."

Hermione frowned. _How does she know what I'm thinking? She has no idea what I've done so far and what I had to do to make this much progress_. But there Hermione stopped thinking, and her lips separated. "I never thought that it _would_ be easy, Mum."

"I know," was her mother's reply. _But hadn't she just said…_ Some unknown force within the brown-haired girl stirred. _She always did that—switched things around_. Just like the time when—

No, she didn't want to go there. If she brought up every petty disagreement she had had with her parents in the past, she'd turn into one of _those_ teens—like Parvati and especially Lavender Brown, who recounted for hours on end the heated arguments she had had with her mother over the summer about this shirt she wanted to buy and that boy she wanted to see. And however annoyed Hermione became with her mother, she refused to allow herself to mold into the common and petty teenage girl figure.

Usually if there was something that her parents did that annoyed Hermione, she would just push it deeper inside her and walk away. But now that was becoming increasingly difficult to do. And she didn't understand why.

But she knew trying to talk wouldn't help. She had tried that before, a few years ago, and it had ended with her mother complaining and making some excuse completely irrelevant to the initial topic. That was more frustrating than holding her comments inside, so Hermione learned that, when dealing with her parents, it was easier to just let it go.

Maybe it was harder to do now because Hermione could speak freely with her friends…

"We're here." Hermione looked up from her seething and found herself standing in front of her parent's home once again.

"That was nice, mum, thanks." Hermione jumped up the stairs and turned the knob on the front door. She sighed. Internal venting left her need to complain satiated--for now.

"I think I'll go in and take my things up to my room now." The muscles at the corners of her mouth worked hard to form a smile and Hermione walked into the house, shutting the door behind her.

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A/N: If you were in any way offended by Hermione's comments about Lavender & Parvati, I'm sorry. I have support for my choice organized into a few paragraphs, so if you'd like to read it, please contact me.


	4. A Bed of Mortar

**A/N:** Happy Birthday Hermione! What with patrolling and rehearsal, I almost didn't make it…

**Summary**: Family dinner doesn't quite describe it. For starters, dinner implies actually eating.

**Building Barriers:** The bricks may be of misunderstanding, but the mortar is of love.

**Chapter 3: A Bed of Mortar**

Later that evening, Hermione walked down the stairs to the dinner table. Automatically, she headed for the cabinet and opened the door to retrieve three white plates with blue floral trim. Carrying them over to the table, she placed one in front of each chair. Noting that there were already forks, knives, and napkins, she returned to the cupboard to fetch three glasses.

Hermione felt a little guilty for not helping with the rest of the table; she had stayed in her room for a long time. In fact, she now realized that she hadn't left it since the walk with her mother earlier.

Fifteen minutes later, Hermione sat down to eat her first full meal of the summer holiday.

"Hermione?" Her father suddenly put down his fork and stared at her thoughtfully.

"Yes, dad?"

"Your teeth, they're different." She had almost forgotten. After all, it really did more good than harm, and after Harry and Ron had noticed—well, other things just became more important (like getting Harry through the second and third tasks. Then of course there was the matter of Cedric's death and funeral). She fabricated what she was going to tell her parents shortly after Madame Pomfrey fixed her teeth, but any formulated explanations had long since been forgotten.

"Oh, yes, that," Hermione began. "Well, there was an accident in the corridor. A curse hit me by mistake, and my teeth were affected." She surprised herself with the ease and comfort she found in lying. As far back as she could remember, she had never lied to her parents…at least not about anything important.

_But then I suppose_, she thought, _next to the other events of the year, the altering of my teeth really isn't that important, even if it crashes like a meteorite into the lives of my parents_. And perhaps, after all, she wasn't really lying; she was only _bending_ the truth.

This time it was her mother scrutinizing her. "Well there has to be some way of fixing it—with magic? It caused this mess, so it should be able to help correct the problem, right?" Mrs. Granger paused only slightly before continuing. "We told you that we didn't want you meddling with your teeth."

"It's not a tragedy, Mum…after all...they don't look that bad," Hermione squeaked. "It could have been worse—they could have grown enormously." She cringed at the memory of her front teeth extending to a monumental size in the Potions corridor.

"Isn't there any way at all of fixing it?" her father suggested, softly but positively. A red cloud moved in front of her vision.

"I thought you would be happy. Well, no, I didn't, but… I know you don't like mixing magic with teeth, but it was an accident [_of sorts_ and can't be reversed, and I think they actually look better, and now you don't have to worry about working on them." Hermione said all of this very quickly, so that by the time she finished, she panted slightly, and both parents stared fixedly at her. Blinking, she added almost defiantly, "I like them better this way."

"I thought we agreed on no magic before you left."

The small twinges of guilt she had experienced earlier began to give way to anger. "_You_ agreed," she said timidly. "I didn't do it on purpose; it just happened. Now that it did, can't you just accept it?" She would never understand the fuss they were making over her front teeth. She never fully understood why they couldn't just let her fix her teeth with magic either. Okay, she appreciate that they were dentists, and teeth were, after all, their forte, their passion. So, their overly-protective manner should have been a given.

But she, Hermione, was a witch. A witch who could do magic. No, magic wasn't--and shouldn't be--a quick fix for everything, but something so harmless, surely it wouldn't matter. It would make her life so much easier. And then she could move on to more pressing and important matters.

This was where she had been hitting the brick wall with her parents. They failed to see that there were much more important happenings in the world. Teeth were certainly not the most essential of all subjects for discussion and debate.

Maybe she was being unfair again. They didn't live in her world .They couldn't know the threat that Voldemort posed. She shouldn't expect them too. After all, hadn't she been masking it since she began her term at Hogwarts and became friends with Harry? They had no way of knowing.

All of these rational thoughts, usually absorbed and then used to screen her vocalizations, vanished in an instant as she looked at the accusatory expressions on the faces of her parents.

Perhaps, it was time she educated them.

"A boy at Hogwarts _died_, and all you can worry about is the size of my teeth."

Hermione whispered, but her words easily carried through the house. She would not have been surprised if the neighbors had heard.

Mrs. Granger's expression faltered. "A boy? Died?"

Hearing the words from the mouth of another gave Hermione strength.

"Yes," she replied, looking pointedly at first her mother and then her father.

Mrs. Granger quickly recovered and jumped in with a question. "How horrible. What happened? Was he ill?"

"No," said Hermione, shaky once more. "He was murdered.

"Murdered!" her father boomed. "By who? Another student?" Hermione fought to find the right words to explain the…circumstances to her non-magic parents. Try as she might to wade her way through the thick sea of vocabulary in her brain, no words would or could accurately signify the weight of the events. Her eyes flicked back and forth as she rejected explanation after explanation, deeming each worse than the one that preceded it:

_After her first year, she rambled on for hours about the glorious and fascinating new subjects at this school, about her fellow Gryffindors, about her favourite teacher. She even told them how she had won house __points by solving a deceitfully simple riddle that led to Gryffindor winning the house cup. _

_When returning from her second year, Hermione beamed about her improvement in __Potions__ and explained to her parents that she hadn't written in a while because she had been sick in the hospital wing with a kind of flu, and the nurse wouldn't let her do anything but lie in her bed. _

_Her tales of third year were noticeably shorter. She told her parents of her wonderful Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, conveniently leaving out that he had almost bitten her on the last full moon. She did tread dark waters then, describing the Dementors and their "mistake" that put her in terrible danger—never near death though._

And now, being pushed forward by a year of incomparable anxiety and danger for her, Ron, and especially Harry, Hermione was at a loss for words.

How do you explain that someone—an incredibly powerful someone who wants to kill not only you, but your parents as well for the sin of existence—has returned to full power and intends on achieving the aim set twenty-three years before?

Mouth slightly open, Hermione looked at each of her parents in turn, before speaking…


	5. Cross Bonds

**Building Barriers:** The bricks may be of misunderstanding, but the mortar is of love.

**Chapter 4: Cross Bonds **

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"Hitler."

The puzzled expression on her mother's face told her that further explanation was necessary. "There's a man in our—the Wizarding world with ideas similar to Hitler's.

"You're talking about genocide?" Mr. Granger asked, blinking behind his frameless spectacles. They reminded Hermione a bit too much of the goggles he wore when cleaning teeth.

"Essentially." Quickly rehearsing something in her head, she spat out the remaining explanation before she forgot it. "He wants to glorify himself and rule with a master race of people whom he believes to be better than everyone else. And all the rest, they –are expendable."

"And this boy, he was Jewish?" Hermione looked at her mother, puzzled. How could a college graduates miss the analogy and head strait for the concrete? Her conscience frowned; that's probably where she got it from. After all, she could be like that sometimes. But that was not the point.

Seeing the look on Hermione's face, Mrs. Granger amended her comment. "You know what I meant."

"He got in the way."

"Mrs. Granger spoke again, tutting appropriately just beforehand. "That's awful. I just don't understand how anyone could kill a child. Has he been arrested?"

Hermione was unsure how to proceed. The fact that a lunatic like Voldemort was running amok in the world would not sit well with her parents. Still, she wasn't sure if they grasped the concept entirely. "The police are looking for him; he is on the run." This was Hermione's first blatant lie. The ministry refused to believe that Voldemort had once again come into power; they were certainly not hunting for him, and, from all the books she had read about Voldemort's first reign, the idea that anyone had him on the run was simply laughable. Still, this explanation would make living with her parents much easier.

"Well that's good," her mother sighed. "He's not near your school?"

"No, the boy…" here Hermione paused. That boy had a name: Cedric Diggory. Somehow, though, sharing his name seemed wrong. "He was killed far from the campus. In another country."

"Well that's a relief." Now Hermione began to feel nauseous. _A relief for whom?_

"You're school has security?"

"Heavy security." Her father nodded at Hermione's steady reply.

"I'm sorry. I don't feel hungry anymore."

"Well you have to eat. I want you to be healthy. You can't stop taking care of yourself because of this boy's death."

Shrugging, Hermione turned and walked up the stairs to her room. Collapsing onto her white-eyelet comforter in frustration for what felt like the thousandth time that day, Hermione closed her eyes and wondered to herself how a person could hear so much and not listen to a word. Yet, she reasoned, it just wasn't fair to accuse her mother of so much. Ron often was guilty of the same, but she reasoned, in Ron, it was tolerable, almost endearing. But in her mother, it was aggravating and impossible to bear. Hermione didn't understand why.

Hermione, with all her book smarts, was beginning to understand something countless others before had come to know: the generation gap.

They had entirely missed the point, along with her emotional state. Their sympathetic looks, however they were meant to reassure, calm and comfort her, did nothing but enrage her. Sure they meant well, but they were not there when Harry brought back Cedric's body and time stopped. They were not at the funeral. Cedric was to them another statistic that they might see on the news.

Hearing footsteps on the stair, Hermione bolted upright and stared hard at her door. She didn't feel like being disturbed. And she didn't feel like climbing off her bed to lock the door.

With a click, the lock secured itself.

Hermione's eye's widened in fear. Had she done that? How could she have? She didn't say a spell. She didn't use her wand—it was lying just inside her trunk. Gulping, Hermione attempted to force her pounding hart back inside her ribcage. She was going to prison, she knew it. An owl would be arriving any minute. Stiffly Hermione turned her swimming head toward the window.

The impending Ministry owl wasn't the only thing that bothered her. She had never lost control of her magic before—even from her beginning days at Hogwarts, she had always completed everything that was asked of her with success. Why now was she losing control?

She didn't know what to do. Obviously she had wanted the door locked. Maybe she _was_ in control. Maybe...

She didn't dare believe.

Hermione suddenly brightened—she would write to Harry. He had had an official warning last year, even if it wasn't his fault. And he wasn't reprimanded because everyone thought that Sirius Black was out to kill him. But just as quickly as the thought occurred to her, she dismissed it. She could never bother Harry with something so trivial after what he had been through.

Then there was the selfish part of her. Her pride simply wouldn't take the hit. Hadn't she scolded Harry for the very same thing two years before? But never mind that.

Now that her heart slowed and she was thinking more rationally, she reasoned that a Ministry owl would have arrived by this time had she actually broken the law. _After all, Alohamora __**is**__ a Grade 1 spell. And I __**am**__ allowed a certain amount of freedom to complete my homework…_ Sending the window one last glance, Hermione slid off her bed and walked over to the door to her bedroom. She turned the handle and unlocked the door just before locking it again herself with her own hand directing the cool metal.

Then, settling in the window seat, Hermione pulled out one of her school books and began to read. Crookshanks, who had been hiding under her bed since their arrival, hopped up onto the blue cushion and curled into a ball under the cove made by Hermione's bent legs.

_And in the case of—_

"So what did you do all day?" her mother walked into the room after arriving home from the office and perched herself on the edge of the couch where Hermione sat reading her Ancient Runes book.

"Read," she replied simply, no taking her eyes off of the page. _In_ _ancient times--_

"Your father's still there," Mrs. Granger continued on as if uninterrupted. He told me to come home and spend some time with you. I'm going to make dinner so we can all eat together."

"Great." Hermione said. Her voice, however, showed less-than-moderate enthusiasm after being interrupted for the second time.

"What do you think I should make?

Hermione gripped top of her book. "It doesn't matter to me. Whatever you decide will be fine." Her voice was now completely flat. Still, her mother plowed on.

"If you're hungry now, I could cut up an apple for you."

"No thanks," she bit the inside of her lip and shifted her book so as to draw her mother's attention to it. "I don't want to spoil my dinner."

"Well, I could share it with you."

"If you like," was her only reply. Her mother got up from the couch and moved toward the kitchen. With relief, Hermione turned her eyes once more to the pages in front of her. _In ancient times the primary--_

"Oh!" exclaimed Mrs. Granger, turning around to speak to her daughter once more. Hermione snapped her book shut, creating an echo in her cavernous living room. "I almost forgot." Her mother disappeared around the corner, but Hermione didn't dare return to her reading. Instead, she set the leather-bound book to one side and swug her legs off of the couch. When Mrs. Granger reentered the room, she carried a cardboard box in her arms, beaming as if it were a birthday cake.

"I found this for you to keep all your notes in. I know you don't like to throw them away." Hermione looked scandalized. _Don't __**like**__ to throw them away?_

"All my classes are accumulative. I need everything. I'll take them back to school with me in September."

"Oh, of course you will. I just thought that you could put them in this nice, sturdy box for the summer."

For what seemed like the thousandth time, Hermione sighed. "I'll just keep them in my trunk. Mum, Ron asked me to go and stay with his family this summer. Harry's going too, and, well, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley asked me for the middle of the month."

"This month?" Mrs. Granger's face fell.

"Yeah," Hermione chose her words carefully. "His parents are working with some of the teachers at our school to try to catch the man who killed Cedric. They've set up a…safe house for us to stay in while we visit."

"Oh, that sounds… nice. And you want to go?"

"Yes." Hermione looked at her mother dead on. "It's not that I won't miss you, it's just, Harry needs us and—"

"Harry?"

"Yes, after everything that's happened…"

"Of course. I understand" Somehow. Hermione doubted that very much.

Seven minutes later, Mrs. Granger returned carrying slices of apple in a green bowl. The way her mother handed her the dish prompted Hermione to speak. "Mum."

Mrs. Granger turned. Hermione sighed. "I don't want to leave for the holiday with us like this." Not the most eloquent of speeches, but she reasoned it'd have to do.

"I'm just worried about you, Hermione. I'm your mother. It's natural that I want to take care of you." As if to prove this maternal instinct, Mrs. Granger fitted herself onto the space between the end of the couch and her daughter.

"I know," replied Hermione. "And I appreciate it, but you also need to realize that there are certain things I'm going to need to do. And I'm going to do them in my own way." Mrs. Granger opened her mouth to interrupt, but Hermione held up a hand and pressed on, "I love you mum. I always will, but I'm growing up."

"You've always been mature for your age," Mrs. Granger managed to squeak in.

Hermione smiled in acknowledgement. "You have to trust me to make my own decisions and allow me to choose what I want to do with _my_ life. I'm not going to muck things," _if I can help it_, she finished to herself.

"I do, trust you, Hermione. We just want to help you. Me and your father."

"I know." Hermione decided to finish the conversation. Arguments of this kind just tired her out. She could see that her mother was right, or at least trying to be honest. She was not, however, listening or attempting to understand Hermione's viewpoint. Thus, the argument would continue and end with the two in a worse state than before.

Conceding, Hermione recognized that going back to the satiation policy worked best for her parents. "Speaking of help, do you want some for dinner?"

Mrs. Granger brightened. "You can help me cut vegetables." She rose, the formal couch hardly moving as she did so. "We'll finish our apple in the kitchen." Her mother turned. "You too, Crookshanks. Maybe if you're lucky you'll catch a cube of beef."

As her mother handed her a wooden chopping block and a knife, Hermione couldn't help but think how the conversation might have gone differently with someone like—Mrs. Weasley? But Mrs. Weasley was not her mother. Ron, Ron didn't…

"Watch what your doing!"

The knife had slipped precariously close to her fingers.

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**A/N:** I am not a bricklayer. However, if you look at a picture of cross bonds, the longest side of the brick can bee seen in one row. In the next row, the shorter side is visible. It's as if the bricks are going in _opposite directions_.

Each row is necessary in the building of the wall.

I would appreciate a review, if you have a minute. It's been a while so I'm a little rusty. I love constructive crticism.


	6. The Alternate Course

**Building Barriers:** The bricks may be of misunderstanding, but the mortar is of love.

**Chapter 5: The Alternate Course**

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Today's dinner conversation was—well—nonexistent. It seemed as if yesterday's explosion had frightened her parents into silence, despite the earlier friendly talk with her mother. All that could be heard around them was the air, buzzing and swirling. Hermione picked a bit at her food before deciding that she should probably eat something. She should probably eat something quickly, for the more quickly she ate, the faster she could get away from the table. These thoughts were foremost in her mind when her father broke the silence.

They conversed—her mother and father—in short bursts about Mrs. Corne's gum disease and Mr. James' root canal, and how if little Susie didn't eat less candy and brush and floss more, she would end up with a mouth full of cavities. After a half of an hour, Hermione asked to excuse herself.

Her father sighed deeply, setting down his fork and tapping his finger on the table. "I didn't mean to be hard on you yesterday. But we do things for you. When you get into the real world, you'll learn that things in life don't always have a quick-fix."

The real world. The real world. Her parents were the ones who didn't know about the real world. Hadn't _she_ glossed over the real events at Hogwarts to protect _them_? They remained ignorant of the fact that a non-human murderer lived and breathed for one purpose: to dominate, even--and it seemed especially--if the path to domination required killing. She was the one who lived in the real world—The Wizarding world.

It slightly shocked Hermione, this revelation that, sometime during the past four years, the Wizarding World and Hogwarts had replaced her current address as her true and natural home. She felt out of place on the lane. Interestingly enough, it was this place that no longer stood as her home that made the Death Eaters despise her. Her parents were staring. How could they know?

Her father's words echoed in her head once again. "We do things for you . . . the real world . . ."

Hermione smiled—whatever she thought, however she disagreed, she felt angry at herself for her outburst the previous night, and she vowed to exercise a greater self control. "I know dad." _More_ _than you could possibly imagine_, she finished to herself.

Her father looked as if he wanted to continue. Underneath the table, Hermione felt an odd urge to imitate one of Ron's rude hand gestures. Frowning as her fingers twitched, Hermione mentally rebuked herself and repeated her request to be excused, this time citing tiredness as the excuse.

In all honesty, she was tired. Deadly tired of arguing and trying to defend herself, her point of view, her way of life. While waiting for her father to respond, Hermione mused over the thoughts of her future.

What would she do? No idea. Something that helped others, if she could. That bettered the world. That is, if world survived. If felt odd to not know where she would be in five more years--to not know every detail of her life. Still, she couldn't see any way that she could know. At the moment, there was no way she could know if she would be _alive_ then.

Hermione shifted focus immediately. She _did_ know that Ron would be coming for her. Or rather Mr. Weasley. She had told her mother that the Weasley's had invited her to a "safe house" for the summer.

While that wasn't exactly true, she _had_ received a letter saying that they were going to pick her up at the end of the week. The Burrow could qualify as a safe house, she supposed. Right now, that was as much into the future as she could see. Ron had something he would tell her when they arrived. She had also received a letter from Victor. Her mother had asked her about him again. Her mother. Hermione looked across the table to find Mrs. Granger looking at her expectantly.

"Sorry. I was thinking about something else."

"I just wanted to know if you wanted to visit the Robb's later tonight. Mrs. Robb has been asking after you. I think she is going to ask you to mind Jane and Brian."

Suddenly, Hermione felt guilty. Very, very guilty. Here she sat, contemplating whether or not she would live to come of age and condemning her parents for wanting to maintain their Muggle normalcy. She was a hypocrite if ever there was one.

They deserved to be free of this burden. She may not get along with them all of the time, but she couldn't stop talking to them just because they remained in the ignorance that she kept them under.

"Sure," she sighed, standing up. "But I don't know that I'll be able to do that. You know. I don't think I'll have the time." Hermione had never really liked minding other people's kids very much. Especially when those other people were the Robbs. Not the best behaved or the most academically gifted of kids. Worst of all, they were downright wild and rude. Hermione liked being a mentor, but policing those kinds of children all day was exhausting.

"I'll be upstairs if you need me." Halfway up the stairs, Hermione decided that, before she left for the Burrow, she would tell her parents all that she could. Whether they would listen . . . that was another story.

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**A/N:** Yes, I know it's short. But it's been forever since I updated and since I wrote this chapter; I just wanted to get it up. I happened upon in in my effort to finish this story. I suppose I intended to add to it & what I had previously became AU because of DH... So, excuses made. Sorry it's been forever.


	7. Setting In

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Hermione Granger. Of course.

**A/N:** This is the next to last chapter, finally. The next chapter is almost finished, so I'll get that up in about a week, follwed by a few outtakes. I have some bits of this, thought and threads that never made it in that I think I'd like to put up, in case anyone is feeling especially ansty.

**Building Barriers:** The bricks may be of misunderstanding, but the mortar is of love.

**Chapter 6: Setting In**

Hermione took a deep breath and closed her eyes. _You called this family meeting, _she reminded herself. _You wanted this_.

"Mum, Dad…" her parents sat opposite her in the sitting room. She had hoped that, by holding this meeting in the formal sitting room, she would be able to remain logical and completely tear-free. More than anything else, frustration tended to make her weepy.

"I have called this meeting to discuss something of the utmost importance." She shuddered. Those words sounded like they had been stolen right out of her father's mouth.

"I-there's something you need to know. About Harry."

"Who's Harry?" her father asked immediately.

"Her friend, dear. The one with the dark hair. What about him?"

"The one with the glasses?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded, trying very, very hard to keep the exasperation out of her voice. "The one with the glasses. When I mentioned Cedric-the boy who died-" it took quite a bit of effort for her to say his name to them. More so than she expected; she felt they shouldn't know-shouldn't know his name. But if she were to remember him properly, as Dumbledore had urged, she must do things like this.

"I didn't tell you-because I didn't want you to worry-" she threw in, "but Harry witnessed the whole thing." Her mother gasped, creating a good effect, she thought. She was a tad surprised though, at her shock. She could have sworn that she let hints drop in front of her mother-all unintentionally, but nevertheless, _things_ were mentioned. And the woman still hadn't figured this out. Slightly frustrating.

"Harry not only witnessed it, but he was intended as the second victim."

Another gasp from her mother. "Oh my."

"I thought you said this was in another country?" Why was it, when she wanted her parents to pick up on things, they couldn't? But as soon as she'd like their memories to gloss over the finer points, they became particularly observant. Naturally, that's how things would work out.

"It did. The murderer used a special magical device called a portkey-"

And that was how it began. Hermione talked and talked, for what seemed like hours. Her parents, to their credit hardly interrupted-hardly.

"If this Voldemort is after Harry, as you say he is, won't he come after you, too?"

"No. Not at Hogwarts, at least. He is afraid of Professor Dumbledore, you see." _He'd come after me anyway, because of you_. As she thought it, she recognized it as unfair.

"Are you sure it's wise of you to stay friends with Harry?" Hermione gaped at her father. She felt the heat creeping up her neck and the water seep toward the corner of her eyes. _He wants to protect me. He wants to protect me,_ she repeated silently.

"I am not going to stop being friends with Harry just because it's dangerous. That's the most-it's cowardly." She settled for that. Her chest rose and fell a little faster, and her teeth clamped down upon each other, as if they were glued together with one of those teeth molds.

"Of course not. No one's asking you to.

Hermione clamped down harder, forcing her teeth to stay together. _Then whatever did you mean by-_

"We're just concerned."

"I know," she pushed out of the now much smaller gap between her teeth. She inhaled and continued.

…

"And so that's everything," she finished. _Everything I can tell you_, which, she realized looking at the clock-only a half-hour had passed-really wasn't as much as she thought. But it was more than she was comfortable sharing initially.

She stared at the adults across from her, waiting for some kind of response.

"Thank you for telling us, Hermione." Her mother.

"It seems to me that your teachers are doing the right thing, organizing against this, this criminal." Her father. "But you're quite sure the school is safe?"

"Positive," she replied, without wavering. "Professor Dumbledore defeated the last dark wizard, Grindlewald, in 1945." She rattled off the fact like Professor Binns had asked it of her, feeling at home in her own personal encyclopedia. "There's no way that anyone is going to attempt anything against the headmaster. He's simply too powerful."

Her father sighed, then nodded. "Well that's good to know, at least."

"Hermione, you know you can tell us these things. We may not understand all of the aspects of your Wizarding World, but we are your parents. We've been around a long time-" Hermione nearly snorted. Not nearly as long as someone like Dumbledore. Or even McGonagall. "And having a daughter like you has opened us up to certain things. You can include us."

"I know, Mum." Her mother hugged her, and Hermione patted her on the back. It was odd, this hug, because it felt forced. But she know her mother needed to do it, so...

"Do you have anything else to share with us?"

Hermione shook her head. "This family meeting is adjourned." She gave to add to her answer.

"Then _Caught Yours_ is on in five minutes. Let's watch it. Make a family night of it."

Her mother left to put on a night gown, and Hermione left to get a book. Her father turned on the tele and found the channel for the sitcom. She wasn't really supposed to read when they watched television together, but that's what it devolved into for the three of them, as often as not. If he wanted family time, they should have played a board game. Plus, Hermione really didn't like this show. It wasn't all that funny.

When they all returned to the television room, her mom held a book nearby, her father was paging through a collection of crosswords. It all seemed so normal. Had she really told them all about Harry and Voldemort just a little time ago? What had they taken from it?

What kind of strange world did she live in? It felt like two Legos that wouldn't fit together anymore. It was like that time that somehow, a plastic bead became wedged inside one of her Lego pieces. Try as she might, she couldn't get the bead out, and the piece no longer would clip onto the others. She could put it on the very end of something, but it stuck out at an odd angle, and was unstable. Her hospital was never the same, until her mother bought her a booster pack with extra pieces.

But it was worse than her Lego buildings, because there were no booster pieces for this. How could she make herself feel more at home in a place that she had called home for most of her life. In fact, it still was her true home in the summer-technically, at least; she only _stayed _with Ron and his family. Owl Post erased the Muggle need for a permanent address, but only in the Wizarding World. She still had a Muggle address and residence at this home. How could she make the two pieces of her life fit together?

Her parents weren't any help. They couldn't be, not really, when they couldn't understand the witch part of her life. It wasn't their fault. She supposed it wasn't their fault for being born in a different time, either. Such was the nature of parents. It just made reconciling all of the pieces of _her _all the more difficult. She supposed she was doomed, because there didn't seem to be a way. Just like, try as she might, she couldn't extricate the bead out from the Lego piece. Nor could her mother or father take it out with a pair of forceps. So this incongruous piece of hers, it would just have to stay.  
The problems was, that piece was the Muggle part, and she wanted to build more in the Wizarding world—her world. So where, how did a relationship with her parents fit into that?

Hermione, in one of the rare moments in her life, had no idea. She only knew that after being 'home' for such a short time, she longed to be _home _where she belonged-with Ron and Harry, among magic. At least she would be with the Weasleys soon.

Hermione peered over the top of her book. Telling her parents was like telling children something—only worse. She didn't tell them because one day, it would all make sense to them. No, she told them to include them. To keep that little bead of her that identified with their world because she had been born into it. She wasn't really telling them for their sake. She was telling them for hers.

The realization sent her book falling into her lap and caused an odd sort of laughter to pass through her lips. It wasn't necessarily ironic, but it wasn't joyful-certainly not. Maybe sarcastic. Or maybe it just happened because it was the only thing to do to keep from feeling suffocated from the inside out.

"I know," her dad chuckled, "Isn't Dave witty?"

The question floated through her processors. "Yes," she answered as best she could, staring with unseeing eyes at the television. She needed some acting lessons if she would have to keep this up for the next few days.

"What's 'the fortress of the third little pig? To the wolf?"

"Brick?" answered her mother.

"Too short."

"Brickhouse, then?"

"That's what I thought, but it's two letters too short."

Oh, he was talking about his crossword. Hermione counted the letters in her head. "What was that last part, again?"

"It's twelve letters, and has an e, an r, and an l."

"No, I meant the last part of the clue," she clarified, realizing that she would be doing a lot of that for them, for the rest of her life.

"Oh, it says, 'to the wolf.'"

Hermione thought for a moment. "Try impenetrable."

"What made you think of that?" Her mother asked.

"No matter what the wolf did to get in, he couldn't. The house was like a fortress, so I started going through adjectives and-"

"It fits!" her father exclaimed, delighted as he penciled in the remaining letters. I don't believe it. Our Hermione does it again!" He beamed. This then-perhaps this encyclopedia in her head would be the connection to them. "Although if that isn't the most obscure crossword I've ever—I've half a mind to write to the paper and tell them just want I think of their clues."

"Impenetrable, of all things. Huh. How about 'solitary one?'"

_Me, right now, _she wanted to say_, _but instead she set her book carefully on the endtable and moved to peer over her father's shoulder_._

"Try... loner."


	8. The Final Stone

**Epilogue – **

_The Final Stone_

"Goodbye, Mum. Dad. I'll see you for the Christmas holiday?" Her parents had won that fight. Skiing. She shuddered. Why people chose to ignore the injury rates of such an activity, she would never understand. "And I'll write, of course."

"A letter every day, I insist," teased her mother. But her teasing seemed desperate.

"I'll write," reaffirmed Hermione.

Standing in the doorway, Mrs. Granger suddenly changed her position and pulled Hermione toward her, acting out the desperation that the teenager had witnessed hidden behind the joke that she made moments before.

"I love you," her mother whispered in her ear.

_I know_. "I love you, too," Hermione replied. And she meant it. She would never stop loving them. They were her parents.

But that was the point. They were entirely different people, coming not only from separate generations, but from separate worlds.

Maybe her parents could feel it too—there was something different about the hug that her mother had given her—but their actions spoke to the contrary. They wanted her to like skiing because they liked it. It was a Muggle activity, and a useless one at that, thought Hermione. But she did not have the heart to tell them anymore. They would only resist and push back, forcing her to retaliate in the only way she could—seal the space.

For now, she wanted it open, just in case. There was always the hope that one day, they would understand her world, and she could preserve some of theirs.

But as she looked one last time over her shoulder at her parents, standing arm-in-arm watching her leave, she knew that there was no going back. Her life would be different from today on. And she was ready to accept it.

She had pushed in the final stone.


	9. Outtake: The Real World

**A/N:** So, As I promised, here is the first outtake of _Barriers_. I wanted to include this shortly after Mr. Granger's comment about preparing Hermione for 'the real world,' but decided it just broke up whatever small semblance of flow the story had.

I'm going to say now, it may not make sense. I did a quick proofread, but there are most-likely unfinished or unexplored thoughts along with some good ole subject-verb confusion and a family of other things that I would probably like to edit out, had I decided to hop on this thought-plot train.

So, this is a small part of Barriers—it originally followed a longer tirade about the concept of the real world. No, I'm not talking about that crap TV show. Although I could do another tirade just on that... Honestly though. I think 'til you're forty, people will be calling you kid and telling you about the Real World. I am not yet at the wise young age of forty, so maybe someone can help me out with this, but the way I see it, people always live in the Real World. (Unless you're delusional like me and attempt to escape it by living in a created world where good always wins and life comes out like you planned.) :coughcough: I mean, I pay my own bills & whatnot, but I don't think the world is more real to me now than it was when I was six and buying plastic fruit and cups of goldfish from the make-believe store. Anyway, tirade over.

_**Building Barriers: **The Real World_

_The Real World. The Real World. _The words chanted endlessly in her head.

Hermione's inner voice scoffed neatly. _I mean, who made this up_?

_Sure,_ she reasoned, _while you are under their care, parents pay for you & generally attempt to "shelter" you from all evil. Alas, my argument is that this doesn't work, because we are always living in the real world. Example 1: __A toddler doesn't pay bills, but his toys are stolen by a playmate. The toddler retaliates and is punished while the playmate is rewarded with a toy..._

_Sounds like the real world to me._

Hermione spotted herself in her small oval mirror and was startled to find that she'd begun talking aloud. She turned away, disgusted and excited to see her flushed face and stand-on-end hair. She only wished she would have spoken this all aloud-in front of her father.

Her face fell.

_I'm a coward._

And she wondered how she could have ever gotten into Gryffindor.

But there's no going back. It was too late. As much as she wanted to cross over the wall, it was too high. How?

And she found her mother's "Unfaltering" support nauseating. She didn't want it. She felt sick with her body. Sick of everything. And all thought left her mind, leaving it barren and empty. She was in uncharted waters now. And she was drowning, with no one around to hear her cries for help. The people on the other side remained completely oblivious to them. They had absolutely no idea. NO IDEA. NO IDEA

Her mother assumed just because she liked it, that Hermione did too. Hermione had being a witch to save her from becoming a dentist, but the little things—they were still there. Freud said that girls grew up and became their mothers, and they sought out mates who remind them of their fathers, but Hermione would rather die.

Maybe this was somewhat extreme, but she thought Freud made up the majority of his "findings" anyway. He wasn't even a psychologist, only a psychoanalyst—a crock made up for the rich to lament about their "terrible" lives. She would not become her mother.

She had to admit, she found her father's love of order reassuring, but at the same time, it bothered her. Why, she could not say. Four years ago, nothing made her happier. She carried that order into her own life. But then, four years ago, _things_happened. Things that made order irrelevant. Things that, in fact, challenged the concept of order. And now, with the return of Voldemort, chaos would surely ensue in the world, especially the Wizarding world—her world.

She wished Voldemort would have died thirteen years ago. Then things would be wonderful. But she knew that it was no use. It was impossible. And yet somehow she knew now was the way things must be. How Hermione knew, she could not say, but some small, hidden part of her knew, and the part of the world—the Muggle world—the world of her parents—that remained orderly and 'normal' felt fake and stifling.


	10. Outtake: Nonoptions

**A/N: **So, I have no idea why this didn't work the first 60 times I tried to upload. Sorry about that. Disclaimers & kittens & all that,

This was written at a time when I was moving in a different direction with the plot, or non-plot. After we found out some more about canon Hermione, this got left behind in favor of something more fitting. I can pretty much guarantee scattered and unfinished thoughts-after I switched gears, I obviously didn't feel the need to develop it further. Then why, you ask, would I publish it? Eh. I guess I liked the odd angsty thought here or there.

After this, I only have one chapter thingy left, so please, please review? For every teenager? For my sanity? For... a cookie?

**Outtake: Non-options**

"Mum, I realize and understand your concern for my safety." She was trying to use the Counseling Models for Mediation and Talking and Listening. It was becoming more difficult by the minute.

"But you, too, need to realize that I have already been though a lot. I know you're saying it out of concern, but I feel like you're patronizing me and not giving me credit for what I have done thus far."

"I know, I'm sorry," her mother began. "I know you have. But you just don't know what these people are going to do. They're crazy." Obviously her mother knew the schematics of the Counseling Model but not how to put it into practice. It was the listening part that she fell short in.

Hermione was going to loose her temper. Or her mind. She almost wished she hadn't said anything the other night at dinner and later in the family room.. Then her muggle home would return to the peaceful serene pseudo utopia that it had once been. Now she fully appreciated her earlier inclinations to hide the year's event from her "living in another world" parents. From this point on, they would only know the essentials. The barest, most minimum of essentials. Anything beyond that—well, it would be better off remaining the grey areas.

_Easier said than done_, logic interrupted her thought.

Yep, she was going to loose it. Then she would land herself in the residential ward of St. Mungo's for addled brains. Only they wouldn't be addled by Magic, but by overzealous-in-all-the-wrong-ways-parents. Inward ranting calmed her.

"I know you're scared, mum, really I do. But no one knows better than I do (except Harry, of course) the severity of the situation. I was there. I lived it and handled myself accordingly thus far. I just need you to recognize that."

"Of course." Mrs. Granger replied.

But Hermione could tell by the tone of her voice that she didn't entirely believe what she was saying.

"Alright, mum. Goodnight."

"Goodnight. I love you."

"Yeah," Hermione half smiled, closing her bedroom door.

As far as Mr. Granger was concerned, well, he was livid. Ever since he had found out that Hermione was living on her own in a world where a raving lunatic roamed loose and free, well he really wasn't happy. It had taken a moment to sink in, but as soon as it did… his face turned red and he went off on a tirade of his own about how the school and government needed to protect Hermione—that was their job.

Hermione had wisely made the decision at that point to tell her parents that the government didn't actually believe that Voldemort was strong—or even alive—again.

That had done it. Up until that point, no one suggested that she shouldn't return to school. There was a lot of talk of phoning the headmaster and choosing friends carefully–she gritted her teeth—but never once did her parents mention the thought that just maybe she shouldn't return to Hogwarts. Smartest thing they did the whole vacation—or rather, had done, because after she argued that it was not popular theory that Voldemort had returned, the suggestion came to contact someone in the government followed by the suggestion that she take a few years off and go to the local university preparatory school.

She'd already had a place secured before she received her Hogwarts letter and the news that witches and wizards existed beyond fantasy novels. It would be oh-so easy to speak to the headmistress and get her back in—at least until things calmed down.

But that was laughable. They were angry, and after Hermione argued that Hogwarts was the best school for her, that subject dropped. Whether they seriously considered it or not, it was not, and would never be an option for her.


	11. Outtake: Accidental Magic

**A/N: **So, as promised, here's another outtake for you. You may recognise bits of this from Chapter 4. This is an alternate version. Originally, I was going to show lots of snippets of Hermione's life with her parents & focus on how the little differences were creating this great chasm. I did some of that, but not nearly as much as I wanted. The plot just took a different direction once I decided on a focus & worked in new canon. Even though there is some repeating in here, the little ideas intrigued me. I actually wish I would have fit the idea at the end of this into the story somewhere. It just never happened. :(

Okay... I know there's really nothing to review, but you could drop one... tell us what little things drive _you _insane? And/or you could suggest something to read. I'm always looking for good stories. Aren't we all?

_**Building Barriers**_

_Outtake: Accidental Magic_

Hermione finished and looked up at her mother expectantly, waiting for an answer. "Mom?"

"Hmmm? Oh, did you try -"

"Yes," groaned Hermione rather more testily than she would have liked. "Were you listening? I just told you that a minute ago."

"Oh, sorry, well…" Mrs. Granger paused. "I don't know then, unless…"

"Hermione rose quickly, "You know what, don't worry about it mom; I'll figure something out."

"All right, sorry I couldn't be of more help." Shrugging, Hermione turned and walked up the stairs to her room. Collapsing on to her white-eyelet comforter in frustration for what felt like the thousandth time that week, Hermione closed her eyes and wondered to herself how a person could hear so much and not listen to a word of it. Yet, she reasoned, it just wasn't fair to accuse her mother of so much. Ron often was guilty of the same, but she reasoned, in Ron, it was tolerable, almost endearing. But in her mother, it was aggravating and impossible to tolerate. Hermione didn't understand why.

Hermione, with all her book smarts, was beginning to understand something countless generations before had come to know: the generation gap.

Hearing footsteps on the stair, Hermione bolted upright and stared hard at her door. She didn't feel like being disturbed. And she didn't feel like climbing off her bed to lock the door. With a click, the lock secured itself.

Hermione's eye's widened in fear. Had she done that? How could she have? She didn't say a spell. She didn't use her wand—it was lying just inside her trunk. Gulping, Hermione attempted to force her pounding part back inside her ribcage. She was going to prison, she knew it. An owl would be arriving any minute. Stiffly Hermione turned her swimming head toward the window. The impending Ministry owl wasn't the only thing that bothered her. She had never lost control of her magic before—even from her beginning days at Hogwarts, she had always completed everything that was asked of her with success. Why now was she losing control?

She didn't know what to do. Obviously she had wanted the door locked. Maybe she was in control. Maybe... Hermione suddenly brightened—she would write to Harry. He had had an official warning last year, even if it wasn't his fault and he wasn't reprimanded because everyone thought that Sirius Black was out to kill him. But just as quickly as the thought occurred to her, she dismissed it. She could never bother Harry with something so trivial after what he had been through.

Now that her heart was slowed and she was thinking more rationally, she reasoned that a Ministry owl would have arrived by this time had she actually broken the law. After all, Alohomora is a Grade 1 spell. And she was allowed a certain amount of freedom to complete her homework… Sending the window one last glance, Hermione slid off her bed and walked over to the door to her bedroom. She turned the handle and unlocked the door just before locking it again herself with her own hand touching the cool metal.

She was left alone in peace to ponder how in the world she could have lost some measure of control. Sitting on the window seat, Hermione pulled out one of her school books and began to read.

The third morning, Hermione left the sanctuary of her bedroom to breakfast with her parents. She felt that she should make the effort after her outburst the night before. Descending the stairs still wearing her pajamas, Hermione half expected to arrive in the Gryffindor common room. It was habit.

Before rounding the corner, Hermione pushed a clump of bushy hair out of her face. She entered the kitchen just as her mother placed two cups of orange juice on the table. Sliding into her chair, Hermione put on her best morning smile.

"Good morning."

"Morning," answered her mother and father in succession.

Mrs. Granger slid into the chair next to her daughter before asking, "Would you like some juice? No sugar added."

"Of-course," Hermione answered.

"Well, you never know what they serve at that school of yours." Mr. Granger chimed in.

"Oh." Hermione traced figure eights on the table with her finger.

"The orange juice is in the refrigerator. I guess I'm used to setting for two now." _That's it. They've gotten used to life without me. … And I've gotten used to it without them…_


	12. Outtake: Realizations in Truth

**A/N: **Ah, so here it is. After years of posting, here is the final outtake of _Barriers_. Once again, you may recognize an idea or two. This was meant to become a chapter but I took it in a different direction. However, as it contains some of my favorite advice, I decided to keep it & save it for last.

Since this is the last last chapter, I suppose I'm hoping that someone enjoyed reading this & perhaps connected to the story. Most importantly, of course, I would like to thank everyone who read, favorited, & reviewed. Thanks especially to those who took the time to review for more than one chapter. You've kept me going when I thought canon had killed this story. Happy Reading & I hope you'll take the time to read some of the other drivel listed under My Stories in my profile.

Cheers, tea, & treacle tart! Adonis blue.

**Building Barriers:**

_Outtake: Realizations in Truth_

"Mother, I'm not a child." Hermione knew that she should control her anger—that she most-likely was acting like a child, but she couldn't help it. Since she had returned home, her anger simmered just below the surface, and Hermione worked hard to keep it from overflowing. Keeping things in was obviously unhealthy, as that's what led to her explosion last night.

"I know that," her mother replied, teetering on the same edge where Hermione was precariously balanced. "You've always been responsible, even when you were a small child, but I'm just reminding you."

_I don't need you to remind me_, thought Hermione bitterly, but this time she chose to keep her mouth shut. When she did speak, her voice was calm once more, but strangely curt. "I have to do my homework now."

"You have a lot of homework for vacation time."

"I always have homework during vacation." And forcing a smile, Hermione turned and shut the door of her room behind her.

After her mother's footsteps died in the hall, Hermione stood and locked herself in—or rather, locked all others out. Her parents never liked her to lock her door, but she didn't care anymore. _What is happening to me?_ She paced. _Why am I still angry? Why am I _always_ angry? I must be overreacting. But still…_

_I can't stay in this house much longer._ Hermione froze in the tracks she was wearing in the floor. Terrified, she slowly lifted her head to glance at herself in the mirror. Immediately she averted her eyes. Hermione wasn't sure she liked what she saw. She wasn't sure that she liked the truth that crept unbidden and unwanted into her thoughts…

For in truth, Hermione didn't understand her parents anymore. She simply couldn't connect with them. And she was now sure her parents didn't and would never again understand her_. In truth, I love them. They're my parents; they gave me life._

_But, to be perfectly honest, I don't know if I like them._

Was that possible? Was that even allowed? Sure, Harry didn't like his aunt and uncle, but they treated him horribly. Never once had her parents denied her food or locked her up for being magical. Of course, she had never been punished for anything. Always the model daughter, always doing everything right, even punishing herself when she did something wrong (which was hardly ever) before her parents found out about it. She was hardest on herself, but she had to be. You didn't get anywhere in life unless you made the right decisions.

It seemed recently, though, that the "right decisions" were objective. Certainly her parent's ideas differed from hers. So who was right? And what was the right decision there?

"Urgh," Hermione sighed, allowing herself to free-fall onto her bed. All this disorganized thought made her head pound furiously. She didn't like ambiguity. It made thing difficult; it made people difficult, especially understanding them.


End file.
